


Control

by DiscontentedWinter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Dubious Morality, Extremely Dubious Consent, Feminization, Humiliation, M/M, Manipulation, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, heed the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-18 11:34:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21510382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiscontentedWinter/pseuds/DiscontentedWinter
Summary: Theo Raekin likes to be in control.He's not the only one.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale/Theo Raeken, Peter Hale/Theo Raeken/Stiles Stilinski, Theo Raeken/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 88
Kudos: 552





	Control

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FandomSlash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomSlash/gifts).



> After a month spent writing a really sweet romance novel, the plot bunnies decided they needed some bad!wrong in their lives. If you agree with them, go right ahead and read this. If you don’t, you’ll find the back button in your browser. 
> 
> This one is for @fandomslash on Tumblr!

Dry leaves crunch under the soles of Theo’s shoes as he picks a path through the trees. The night is dark and moonless, and Theo squints. His heart beats a little faster, his nerves skittering between fear and anticipation before finally settling on anticipation. It’s heady and warm, and a little intoxicating. Theo has been waiting for this moment forever, and planning it for weeks. He is sure-footed enough to find his way through the trees despite the darkness—he’s walked this same route every night for the past six nights to make sure that he knows it. To make sure that he won’t be seen. He isn’t sure why he’s chosen the seventh night to act. It seems like a solid number. Biblical, maybe, though on the seventh day God had rested. On the seventh day, Theo Raeken acts. Or course, Theo isn’t creating, is he? Well, perhaps for certain values of creating, but he’s certain that won’t be the popular consensus if anyone finds out.

Not that anyone will find out.

Theo sets his bag down as he approaches the back fence of the house and unzips it slowly, careful not to make any noise.

Duct tape, zip ties, a knife, and a bottle of Midazolam and a syringe.

Theo stares over the fence.

The house is in darkness, except for a light in the kitchen and one in an upstairs bedroom. Theo can’t see any movement, but he knows he’s inside. Maybe he’s at his desk, working on some ridiculously off-topic essay. Maybe he’s fallen asleep on the couch, his long dark lashes resting against his cheeks. Or maybe he’s taken a shower, and fallen asleep on his bed wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his narrow hips.

Theo bites back a moan.

 _Stiles_.

Theo fell in love with Stiles Stilinski when they were both eight years old and on the same little league team. Theo loved things then as he did now—with a single-minded possessiveness that burned in his gut like rage. He saw Stiles’s gap-toothed grin and wanted it all for himself. He saw it directed at Scott McCall, and wanted to push Scott down into the mud and hold him there, face down, until he stopped breathing, and then Theo could have Stiles all to himself.

Theo was never very good at sharing.

Age doesn’t temper that need to own things, to possess them entirely, but Theo learns how to hide it behind a smile. Theo has perfected that smile by the time he’s seventeen and his family moves back to Beacon Hills.

Theo has perfected a lot of things.

Stiles will be perfect too, once he learns his place.

Theo leans into his bag and takes out his knife. He tilts the blade, slightly disappointed there’s not enough moonlight to make it gleam, but the frisson of anticipation that shivers through him—heavy and warm and dark like night swimming—more than makes up for it.

Theo has never felt more powerful in his life than he does in this moment.

He’s never felt more like a predator.

It doesn’t occur to him that he’s not the only dangerous thing lurking in the trees, but suddenly there are claws against his throat, red eyes flashing, and a voice that purrs close to his ear, “Well, what do we have here?”

Blood doesn’t smell as sweet when it’s Theo’s.

***

There’s a wolf in Theo’s blood and it burns. It races through his veins, snarling and biting, tearing Theo apart. There’s a wolf in his ear as well, and pressed up against his sweaty back, its claws digging into his flesh. The wolf inside Theo howls and whines and the other wolf—the _alpha_ —bares his glistening fangs and growls in response.

There’s a wolf eating Theo’s brain and carving out a space inside his skull with its claws and teeth so it can climb in there. It stretches out and fills him, and makes his spine bend in submission to the alpha prowling at the edges of his consciousness.

And when the change has finally burned out of him, when Theo the boy has been utterly consumed by the creature who now wears his skin, Theo the wolf opens his yellow eyes and sees the world for the first time.

***

Theo’s wolf is a jealous creature, but he understands what he did wrong. Stiles was never his prey to take. Stiles belongs to the alpha, to Peter. The alpha is like a god to a new wolf, both cruel and benevolent, and Theo cowers when he snaps and preens when he smiles. It’s difficult, learning to hide his wolf. Everything is too loud, too bright, too much for his newly developed senses, but Peter is his anchor. A single growl can pull Theo back into line, when nothing and nobody could when Theo was a human. This new dependence—this loss of self—both rankles and comforts, and Theo wears it uneasily.

He loves his new strength though. He loves his power. He revels in what the transformation has done for him physically. He’s stronger and faster than he’s ever been in his life. He’s the predator he always knew he was born to be, and he is surrounded by sheep.

Their bleating rattles off the walls and through Theo’s skull on his first day back at school, and it takes all of Theo’s concentration to stop his claws and fangs from coming out, and to swallow down the growl that builds in the back of his throat.

And then he sees Stiles. 

Stiles isn’t the same gap-toothed kid that Theo remembers. He’s older now, and harder, and he carries the knowledge of darkness in him like a shadow. It only makes Theo want him more. He wants Stiles like a wolf wants bloody meat—sharp with hunger, and sharper with fear that the alpha will catch him trying to steal.

He hides it all—his lust, his hate, and that place they meet with the urge to bite and rip and maim—with a smile, just like he’s always done. He watches instead.

He sees that Stiles and Scott are still friends. He feels that old burn of rage that he first did all those years ago when Stiles only had eyes for Scott McCall. 

“Hey,” he says when he bumps his tray against Scott’s in the line at the cafeteria at lunch. “Scott, right?” His smile broadens. “Weren’t we on the same little league team when we were like nine?”

Scott’s face lights up. “Were we?”

He’s as soft and malleable as butter. Theo wants to drag his claws through his guts.

“I think so,” he says. “You look kind of familiar. I’m Theo. Theo Raeken.”

And it’s as easy at that to be Scott’s friend.

As easy as that to be one step closer to Stiles. 

***

His first full moon crashes over Theo like a breaking wave. It picks him up and throws him down again a hundred times, and Theo roars and howls and tugs at the chains that Peter has wrapped around him. He wants to fight and fuck and kill, and while none of these urges are new to him, the sheer chaotic strength of them overwhelms him. Theo has always been a predator, but he’s never been a mindless animal before.

“Control it,” Peter says, and Theo roars at him and cowers away in the same instant. Peter’s smile is both knowing and cruel. “Control it.”

Theo strains against the chains.

“The wolf can give you everything you ever wanted, Theo,” Peter says, his voice smooth as honey. “But only if you learn to keep it on a leash. The moon is not your alpha. _I_ am your alpha. You take your orders from me.”

Theo whines.

“Control it,” Peter says again. “Or it will control you.”

Theo roars again, cowers again, and the full moon wheels slowly across the night sky somewhere far above.

“Control it,” Peter says, “and I will give you everything you ever wanted.”

The morning, when it comes, is both a relief and a new torture. Peter releases him from his chains, but Theo is wrung out and exhausted. It’s the first time this new body has failed him. He slumps down to the floor, panting for breath, and closes his eyes against the daylight that stabs him as sharp as shards of glass.

The door to the room is ajar, but Theo ignores it.

He lies there and waits for his strength to come back to him.

And then, after some time—it might be minutes or hours, Theo can’t tell—he hears the low murmur of voices, and a familiar scent reaches him. It’s heady and rich and stirs his blood the way nothing else does: _Stiles_.

Theo rises from the floor, lifting his nose to catch the scent again. He pulls the door open, and blinks in the harsh daylight streaming in the windows.

The place belongs to Peter’s nephew, who’s gone now. It’s a loft, and the storeroom Theo was chained in opens onto a large, empty space. There’s a long table under the windows, and Stiles is laying back on it, sunlight making his naked skin glow. His head is thrown back, his throat exposed to the alpha fucking into him.

Peter is still dressed as he stands at the end of the table. One of Stiles’s legs is wrapped around his waist. The other one, Peter holds in his hand, tugging it further open as Stiles moans and his hands scrabble for purchase on the sides of the table.

Every thrust punches a strangled little noise out of him: _uh, uh, uh_. Theo can’t tell if he’s enjoying himself or not. It’s a beautiful sound either way, and it makes Theo’s blood sing.

Stiles is laid out like a feast for the alpha’s taking, and he writhes and whimpers as Peter fucks him in long, full strokes. He’s beautiful, like a butterfly pinned to a board, weakly fluttering.

“We have a visitor, sweetheart,” Peter says, and Stiles’s eyes flash open. “No, no. Don’t fight it. Let Theo see what a good little slut you are for daddy.”

Stiles moans again, and bites his lip as his gaze meets Theo’s. Then he squeezes his eyes shut, tears sliding down his cheeks as he flushes pink and his scent sharpens with humiliation. But Theo moves closer and sees that his dick is hard.

Theo’s mouth waters as Peter rubs his thumb against the glistening head of Stiles’s dick, and then licks his thumb to taste Stiles.

Theo takes another step forward, hunger and lust battling inside him, but Peter flashes his eyes and he freezes. He watches, his heart pounding, his head muzzy with Stiles’s scent, and his dick throbbing in his jeans, as Peter fucks Stiles.

 _Uh, uh, uh_.

And suddenly everything seems more interesting, more ripe with potential, than it ever did before. Because no way would Scott McCall approve of this. This is a part of the darkness that has touched Stiles, Theo thinks, and he’d bet anything that Scott doesn’t know a thing about it. He marvels a little at Peter’s boldness, because Peter knew, didn’t he? He knew it didn’t take zip ties and Midazolam to bend Stiles to his will. He knew he only had to manage it once, and Stiles’s own guilt and self-loathing would keep him bound to Peter after that. This is a different game that the one Theo had wanted to play. This is much more skilful, and much more precise.

“That’s it, Stiles,” Peter croons. “Squeeze your cunt down hard on daddy, princess, and make yourself come.”

Stiles sobs as he obeys.

***

As soon as Peter leaves the loft, Stiles rolls off the table, flushed bright red still, and stumbles to gather his clothes.

“Stiles,” Theo says, his mouth dry.

“Fuck off,” Stiles snaps, and there’s the boy that Theo wanted to grind under his heel. There’s the boy who would have looked so pretty wearing nothing but zip ties and a gag and tears.

Theo laughs.

Stiles glares at him, holding his bunched-up clothes in front of his dick. “What?”

“You’re so funny, Stiles,” Theo says, real affection welling in him. “Look at you, trying to be all tough guy when I just saw you get off by getting fucked by someone who calls you princess.”

“Fuck off!” Stiles snaps again, but his voice wavers, the wall of his anger barely holding back what must be a flood of humiliated tears. A part of Theo would very much like to see them fall.

Theo laughs again, and shows Stiles his palms. “I don’t care, dude,” he lies, and walks toward the kitchen. “I just want breakfast. You hungry?”

Control the wolf, Peter said, and Theo could have everything he ever wanted.

He goes into the kitchen and begins to rattle around looking for cereal.

He listens for Stiles leaving.

Stiles doesn’t.

Theo hides his smile.

***

What Stiles needs, Theo decides over the next few days, is a friend who is not Scott McCall. A friend who won’t be horrified and outraged and shocked at the things Stiles does. And Theo can be that friend. He can be the friend who sits on the couch and plays video games while Stiles is put on his knees in the next room by the alpha. He can be the friend who works on his homework with Stiles and pretends he can’t smell the cum on his breath. He can be the friend who lets his gaze slide right over Stiles’s skin as Peter fucks him up against the wall, and then fetches him a can of soda when it’s over.

Stiles struggles at first, when Theo is in the room, but Peter presses his fangs to his throat and tells him that his silly human conventions have no place here. Tells him that they’re a pack now, and that there’s nothing wrong with nakedness, nothing wrong with sex. It’s how wolves are, Peter tells him, and wears Stiles’s resistance away as slowly but surely as water wears away a rock. It’s like watching an artist paint a portrait, stroke by tiny stroke. And Theo plays his part by pretending to be unaffected. By pretending he doesn’t want to shove his dick inside Stiles’s hot, sloppy hole the moment Peter is done and fuck his alpha’s cum right back out again.

Everything he wanted, Peter said.

Theo works on his control. He remembers how to be patient.

He learns from his alpha.

***

At school, Theo takes advantage of the growing distance between Stiles and Scott by inserting himself in the space between them. Scott’s concern gives way to puzzlement when Theo talks about how great Stiles has been showing him around town, and how he really appreciates it because it’s not easy being the new kid, you know? And Scott is placated, and Stiles is grateful, and Theo makes do with small, casual touches that don’t look out of place amongst friends.

***

“It’s fucked up, right?” Stiles says one afternoon as he sits on the couch with Theo.

Theo looks down at his homework. “Economics?”

Stiles snorts. “No. All of _this_.”

He waves a hand around the loft. Peter has left them alone together, which happens more and more frequently. Theo isn’t quite sure which one of them he’s testing, or exactly what that test might be.

“I don’t know,” he says, projecting uncertainty into his voice. “It makes my wolf calm. Like, to know my place in the pack, you know? To know that my alpha is strong and confident and…” He wrinkles his nose. “And virile, I guess? So like it’s weird, maybe, talking out loud about it, but my wolf gets it.”

Stiles chews on the end of his pencil.

“Don’t you like it?” Theo asks softly.

“I…” Stiles groans. “I don’t know!”

Theo hides his smile because of course Stiles likes it. He moans and writhes like a total slut on Peter’s dick, and comes like a fucking geyser.

“I’m not a wolf!” Stiles says at last, his shoulders slumping. “I guess it’s weird because I’m not a wolf.”

“That might be it,” Theo agrees companionably.

Drip drip drip, as all of Stiles’s resistance wears away.

The afternoon wears slowly on into dusk, and Theo puts some pizza pockets in the microwave.

“What’s it like being a werewolf?” Stiles asks as they eat.

And, oh the things that Theo could tell him about how his blood runs hotter than it ever did before, how he’s stronger and faster and how even now he wants to bury his muzzle in Stiles’s throat and bite and tear as Stiles struggles underneath him. As he would fall silent at long last, his rabbit heart pumping slowly as Theo lapped at his blood. And how Theo would lift him up and dress his wounds, and kiss him softly as he healed before doing it all again for as long as it took until he’d extinguished that spark inside him and there was nothing left but a dozy and compliant shell of a boy.

“I like being part of a pack,” he says instead. “A _family_. It makes me feel safe, because I can always feel Peter looking out for me.”

Stiles’s eyes widen and his mouth falls open a fraction. It’s sympathy for whatever poor-little-Theo origin story Stiles is currently imagining, but it’s also something else. There’s a touch of envy in it; just enough to make Stiles’s scent a fraction more piquant. Want always smells so sweet, and Theo doesn’t have to wonder at its cause. How many times did Theo stand for hours outside Stiles’s house and never even glimpsed the sheriff? Stiles is lonely, and Theo hates that he didn’t spot it soon enough to exploit it.

The alpha did though.

There is so much that Theo can learn from Peter. So much that Peter is already teaching him. Between them, they’ve made Stiles open to them like an anemone, and he doesn’t even realise it.

“Peter…” Stiles murmurs the name. “Would you… would you do anything for him?”

The question tastes like victory.

“I would,” Theo says softly. “I trust him with my life. I trust this. It feels solid, you know.” He bites his lip for a moment. “More solid than anything I had before.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, but his heartbeat hitches and his scent thickens with arousal, and even if Theo wasn’t a wolf he wouldn’t have missed the way that Stiles’s gaze dropped to his mouth when he bit his lip.

Theo pretends not to notice, and offers him the last pizza pocket instead.

Drip drip drip.

***

Theo doesn’t know why he does it.

No, that’s a lie.

He wants Stiles. He’s always wanted Stiles, and when he sees a way to have him, a way that he can believe won’t bring his alpha’s jealous ire down upon him, he takes it.

And what if this has been where Peter has been manipulating them all along with his flashing eyes, his soft growls, and his knowing smirks. What if this is exactly what Peter wants? Theo’s wolf preens at the idea of pleasing his alpha, but his human side knows what he suspects is the truth: that this is _wrong_.

Being wrong has never stopped Theo doing what he wanted before.

Even the wolf knows that there’s something in the human side of Theo that accepts no authority. Even the wolf knows not to look that part of Theo in the eye.

And so it happens.

“No,” Stiles says, but the word is breathy and faint as a sigh. He tries to push Theo away, but he’s weak and Theo’s barely exerting any force.

“Yes,” Theo says, and crowds him against the wall.

“Yes,” he says again, gripping Stiles’s chin and tilting it back to expose his pale throat to his mouth.

“Yes,” he says when he tugs Stiles’s jeans down off his narrow hips.

And Stiles smells of tears and fear and arousal, all of it wrapped around the racing thump-thump-thump of his rabbit heartbeat.

The wolf has him in his jaws now.

***

“No,” Stiles says when Theo has him bent over the couch, legs spread. When he’s rubbing his thumb against Stiles’s hole, feeling it open under him. “No, Theo! Pl-please, no!”

Theo licks a stripe up the side of his cheek. “Why not?”

Stiles squirms under him. “Because that’s the alpha’s! That—that belongs to Peter!”

A rush of anger wells up in Theo, but the wolf is there to reign it back. Theo wants, and Theo should be able to take, but the wolf knows how angry the alpha will be. The wolf knows that whatever game Peter is playing here, whatever Peter wants, then Theo needs to tread very carefully.

But at the same time Theo has wanted this for _years_. He wants Stiles under him, mewling and struggling, tears streaking that pretty face of his. Theo has always wanted to take Stiles, to own him, and then to break him. But he’s not fool enough to want to destroy himself in the process.

“But you want it,” Theo tells him. “You _want_ it, Stiles!”

Stiles shakes his head. “No! I do! I _do_ , but I can’t!”

But he spreads his legs further, and moans when Theo’s thumb slips inside the tight heat of his clenching body.

“You _want_ it,” Theo repeats, and marvels because it’s actually the truth.

“Wait!” Stiles pants for breath. “Wait. Not… not like this, okay? Not like this.”

And Theo stills and listens.

***

This is taking too.

This is still taking.

This is lying back on the couch and taking Stiles’s trembling fingers inside him. This is taking Stiles in a way that Peter never has, lifting his hips when the blunt, hot head of Stiles’s dick pushes against him, and Theo lets him in.

This is Stiles gasping and shuddering as Theo takes him in, his voice as broken as a bird’s, and Theo thinks that yes, yes, he can take Stiles like this.

He can break him like this too.

***

Peter’s mouth curls up into a thin smile. “There is a pack hierarchy, Theo,” he says. “Did I not make myself clear?”

Theo juts out his chin, his heart beating fast.

Peter reaches out and drags a finger down his sweaty torso. Glances at where Stiles is sitting on the couch, naked, his legs drawn up. “Did my pup think he could mount my princess without permission?”

Theo swallows back his snarl.

“I fucked him,” Stiles says suddenly.

Peter raises his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“I fucked him,” Stiles repeats.

“How did you manage to do that, princess? Did you overpower a werewolf all on your own?”

Stiles’s gaze slides from Peter to Theo and back again. He smiles, and there’s a cruel edge to that smile that Theo has never seen before. “He said I could, alpha.”

Peter’s smile grows. “Well, then.” He curls his fingers around Theo’s throat and squeezes. “I guess someone just designated themselves as pack bitch, hmm?”

***

There’s a bag under Peter’s bed that Theo hasn’t seen in weeks, not since he dropped it in the woods that night. It contains duct tape, zip ties, a knife, and a bottle of Midazolam and a syringe. Stiles bites his lip as he unpacks it, his eyes bright.

“Oooh!” He shakes the bottle of Midazolam. “Were you going to use this on me, Theo? Knock me out before you fucked me?”

“Silly boy,” Peter says, pushing Theo onto the bed. “Not so tough now, are you?”

“Alpha,” Theo croaks.

“None of that, bitch,” Peter says. “You made your choices. I think it’s time you faced the consequences, don’t you?”

Stiles sits on the bed beside Theo, bouncing a little. “Make him hurt, Daddy.”

Peter laughs, and grips Theo by the hips. “Anything for my princess.”

Theo screams as Peter thrusts inside him.

***

“You got played,” Stiles says later that night, tossing Theo a soda. “You were the biggest, meanest fish in your little pond, but guess what? You’re in the ocean now and you just met a fucking shark.”

“Fuck you,” Theo says, and snaps the can open.

“Aw,” Stiles says, pulling his mouth into an exaggerated shape. “Are you upset that you fell for it, bitch? _No, Theo, no, I want you, but not like this_!”

From the kitchen, Peter laughs and the sound is bright with delight.

Theo growls.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Listen, all of that bullshit you told me, it’s all true. This is pack, Theo, and your wolf knows its place in it now.”

“At the bottom!”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “And so fucking what? Put your fucking ego aside for a second, and remember how you whined and begged for your alpha’s cock, huh?” He jabs Theo in the chest. “Your wolf knows where it wants to be. Maybe you oughta listen to it.”

Theo growls again, but the sound is weak this time.

Peter wanders back into the living room, holding a long-stemmed glass of wine. He sits on the couch. He holds his wine in one hand, and extends his other arm over the top of the couch. Stiles sits down next to him and curls into him.

There’s an easy intimacy to them that Theo despises, but one that his wolf craves at the same time.

Peter smiles knowingly.

And Stiles…

Stiles slides a hand up the inside of Peter’s thigh. There’s no shame in him now. There never was, Theo realises. It was all an act. Stiles made himself a shining, trembling lure, and he reeled Theo in effortlessly.

“Remember when I said I’d give you everything you ever wanted, Theo?” Peter asks, and takes a sip of his wine.

Theo nods mulishly.

“This is what you want,” Peter tells him. “It’s what you’ve always wanted. You need to be controlled, Theo. You've always needed it.”

Theo bristles and looks away.

Peter laughs again. “Oh, don’t look so sour, pup. It’s not a death sentence. And, if you’re a good pup, you’ll be allowed inside my princess’s cunt on occasion.”

Stiles bites his lip and shivers, and Theo can’t deny the thrill that runs through him at the promise of fucking Stiles.

Peter sets his wine down on the coffee table, and gestures at Theo.

Theo hesitates for a moment, and then crosses over to the couch.

“Sit,” Peter says, pointing at the floor.

Theo sinks to his knees, and his wolf delights when the alpha runs his fingers through his hair.

“Good puppy,” Peter says, his voice as smooth and rich as molasses. “Good boy.”

A part of Theo wants to flinch at the words, wants to fight, but another part of him—the wolf—settles and preens under his alpha's praise.

He was played, and he should be angry. He was played, and he lost. But here he is, kneeling at his alpha’s feet, and something about it feels right. Theo has never felt so unanchored in his life, not even when he first got the bite.

Stiles leans forward, and cups Theo’s chin. Brushes their lips together softly.

“Thank you, Daddy,” he says. “I always wanted a puppy to play with.”

Peter smiles. “Anything for you, princess. Anything for you.”

***

That night Peter takes him again, and Theo moans and sighs as his alpha pounds into him. Then Peter pulls out, and fucks into Stiles. Stiles whimpers and cries out, and holds Theo’s hand tightly as he comes. Peter’s thrusts rattle the bed frame, and, on the collar around Theo’s throat, the metal tags jingle softly together.

His wolf howls in delight.


End file.
